


Heavy Waters

by imalright



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, idk man Sylvain has a headache and Felix takes care of him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21598015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imalright/pseuds/imalright
Summary: “Better?” Felix asks softly.“Yeah,” Sylvain lies, but it’s fine.Felix hums. Sylvain knows that Felix knows that he’s lying, and Felix knows that Sylvain knows that Felix knows. It’s just one of those things between them
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 20
Kudos: 220
Collections: Sylvix Squad Super Stories





	Heavy Waters

He’s breathless.

A thousand blades pierce through his heart and lungs every night. Pain cuts through his head, splitting his skill in two and reducing him to a shaking, quivering mess, gasping for air as the last images of silver edges fade from the fringes of his memory. It doesn’t matter. It still hurts. 

An arm curls around him and words whisper through his hair and ear. Golden nuggets and jewels of wisdom and love bring him back to life, back to  _ his _ life.

He opens his eyes.

It’s still dark. No surprise, really, but it fucking sucks that he only got a few hours of sleep  _ again. _

“Sylvain.”

The arm around him tightens and he follows its pull, turning to meet Felix’s sleep-softened stare.

“Same shit,” Sylvain says flippantly. Felix makes what’s probably supposed to be a face but he’s too groggy to fully commit.

“It was bad enough to wake you up,” he points out.

He’s not wrong. Sylvain closes his eyes and nods. 

“My head hurts like a bitch,” he groans. He presses the palm of his hand against his eyebrow and, while it relieves the pain somewhat, it doesn’t really help. Ugh, he’s so nauseous.

Felix shuffles around next to him. He opens his mouth to ask what he’s doing but his question is answered when Felix’s rough hands gently guide him to lay his head in his lap. The blissful sensation of Felix’s fingertips running over his scalp with  _ just  _ a hint of nails melts him into a placid puddle. He sighs and drops his own hand, letting his husband take care of him.

Felix hasn’t changed much in a post-war world. He says there will always be people who need defending and, well, he’s right. Sylvain can’t begrudge him for keeping his strict training regimen for the sake of the rural villages in Faerghus. He’s just as prickly, just as blunt, and just as against-the-grain as he ever was. 

He loves much the same; sharply, openly, ice cold to the Margrave’s disapproval and the extremely heterosexual expectations of Faerghus crested nobility. Oh, goddess above, Sylvain  _ loves  _ it. 

But Sylvain also loves his softer, domestic moments. The hours after dusk when Felix retires and melds against Sylvain’s body in front of the fire or in their bed are some of the warmest he’s ever had. Felix’s calloused, scarred hands are some of the softest he’s ever held. His sharp, appraising eyes make him feel the most loved he’s ever felt. His expert fingers teasing out the tension in his scalp may not cure his migraine, but he’ll swear on his brother’s grave that they’ll cure his broken soul.

“Better?” Felix asks softly.

“Yeah,” Sylvain lies, but it’s fine.

Felix hums. Sylvain knows that Felix knows that he’s lying, and Felix knows that Sylvain knows that Felix knows. It’s just one of those things between them. 

“Are you falling back asleep?” Felix asks.

“Doubt it,” Sylvain responds.

“That’s for the best,” he says mysteriously. Sylvain tries to crack open an eye and very quickly regrets it with a grimace. “Knock it off, just relax.”

“Why’s it for the best, though?” Sylvain all but whines. He must be pretty bad off for Felix to surrender an answer so quickly.

“I asked Mercedes about your migraines,” he explains, “she… well, she said there isn’t a cure, but caffeine might help, depending what caused it.”

“Oh, like, what cause does it help?”

He can almost hear Felix roll his eyes. He must be waking up more. “I didn’t ask.”

Sometimes Felix’s lack of curiosity baffles Sylvain. Really, the man’s so catlike in every way save for this.

“In any case,” Felix continues, “it’s something to try. You probably won’t sleep after, though.”

Sylvain shrugs, his shoulders pressing against Felix’s thighs. “Nothing new.”

“Hm.”

They stay in their position for a while longer, Felix teasing out whatever tension he can and Sylvain breathing through the pain. He doesn’t know how long they stay but the first sign of daylight is peeking through the curtains and shining against his tightly shut eyes before Felix moves.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he says. Sylvain groans and throws a blanket over his face to rest in sweet, sweet darkness.

Sylvain knows Felix is on his way back when the muffled tinkling of the tea set quietly comes down the hall and cuts through his skull. He very bravely puts up with the pain while Felix, who seems to be unaware of the racket he’s making, delicately places the set down and passes Sylvain a cup of tea. He squints at it disbelievingly.

“This is my regular tea,” he points out as he takes the cup, anyway.

“Mercedes said it was fine.”

“We don’t have anything with more caffeine?”

“If you want more caffeine I have to import it from Dagda and I don’t think it’ll get here in time.”

The mattress dips. Sylvain surmises Felix has sat down.

“Can we get anything in town? For later?”

“Mercedes said it was fine, Sylvain.”

His tone doesn’t invite argument. Sylvain sighs; he’ll have to write Mercedes and ask himself once Felix is distracted with his training or whatever he’s doing this week. Defeated, he takes the cup from Felix and slowly, carefully, begins drinking. He can feel with heightened awareness the tea burn down his throat. It’s oddly soothing and, when it settles in his stomach without worsening his nausea, he finishes the cup and Felix refills it, starting the cycle over again.

The entire pot of tea does not magically cure him. Now he’s just hot.

“Feliiiix,” he whines, “it didn’t woooork.”

“If you’re able to tolerate that tone of voice then it did something,” Felix mutters with no bite.

Sylvain pouts and wraps his arms around Felix’s waist, hiding his face in his torso. Felix’s hand returns to his head and he runs his fingers through his hair soothingly.

“You don’t feel better at all?” he asks.

Sylvain decides to give it the ol’ academy try and opens his eyes a little bit. “The sun isn’t running me through with a sword,” he decides. 

“I certainly hope not,” Felix says dryly, pulling an equally dry chuckle from Sylvain. “It helped a little bit, then. That’s a start.”

Sylvain nods into his body.

“Has petting you like a dog helped?”

“Spiritually.”

“I see.” There’s a pause and then, “I have an idea.”

“Hm?”

“This will take a bit longer,” Felix says. He gently untangles himself from Sylvain’s arms and leaves, placing a gentle kiss on his shoulder before standing entirely. “Don’t die while I’m gone.”

“Never.” Sylvain’s words are muffled into the bedspread. Felix snorts — a wonderful sound, truly — and walks away. The sound of pumping water shoots over him; the shrill, rhythmic whine of metal on metal isn’t great, but he has to admit the tea truly must’ve helped somewhat if his skull is still in one piece. He tries to count the pumps but finds his focus slipping. It’s gonna be one of those days, huh? Where he can’t get out of the migraine fog? Lovely.

“You have to take care of meee,” he whines when Felix finally returns. He can keep his eyes open long enough now to see Felix roll his.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks, though it sounds more like a statement. “Come on, get up, I can’t carry you.”

He takes Felix’s hand, more for balance than anything else, and stands up slowly. There’s still a weight pressing in on either side of his skull, but it’s softer now. Not comfortable, but softer. 

Felix leads him into the bathroom, where the air is humid and somehow… cold? Steam rises out of their deep, wide tub in sheets. He looks around to try and find the source of the temperature — 

“I opened the window,” Felix, who can read minds, says. Sylvain glances over and sure enough, their bathroom window has been cracked open, welcoming in the crisp winter air. He wonders if Felix has done this before.

He doesn’t ask, though, because when Felix’s practiced hands ease him out of his sleepclothes his mind goes blank. He just watches his husband, whose hands and fingers have been trained for violence and brutality, gently and lovingly undoing the drawstring around his hips, reverently tracing the scars that mar his body. Fuck, he’s so lucky to have him. He sends a silent prayer to the powers that be for blessing him when he doesn’t deserve even a quarter of his good fortune.

Felix eases him into the tub, allowing him to enter the water slowly while his skin gets used to the heat. It’s intense. The cold air is so, so refreshing, filling his lungs while his muscles relax. He leans back, breathes deeply, stretches his arms out, and gives Felix what he knows is his cockiest smirk.

“You joining?” he uses his predator voice to ask; it’s deeper and drives Felix absolutely wild.

It has the intended effect. Felix flushes. He chooses not to point out this is hardly the first time they’ve been naked together. 

“You have a migraine, dumbass,” he huffs oh-so-caringly. He strips anyway, much less gently than he did Sylvain, and climbs in the tub between Sylvain’s legs without an ounce of flirtation. They’re facing one another, Sylvain’s legs parted and outstretched and Felix’s legs crossed under him, resting on Sylvain’s thighs. Felix warms his hands in the water and presses one to Sylvain’s brow. Sylvain leans into the touch, exhaling as the warm pressure brings some relief.

“You’re a genius,” he breathes. He hardly even hears himself, but Felix hears him fine. He huffs.

“What brought this one on?” he asks.

“Think I had a nightmare,” Sylvain concentrates, tries to remember, but can only pull scraps. “I think it was about the war. Not sure, though.”

Felix hums. 

“I don’t know if it came from the nightmare or if the nightmare came from the migraine,” Sylvain continues, “wherever it came from it fucking sucks, though.”

Felix is silent. 

“...Thank you.”

“What?” Felix looks startled at his gratitude.

“For taking care of me?” Sylvain laughs, “it… it’s getting better. I think the tea did actually help.”

“Hm.” Felix narrows his eyes disbelievingly; there’s no dishonesty to be found. Sylvain really is feeling better. 

“The bath is helping, too.”

“Good,” Felix says. He lowers his hand back under the water and Sylvain takes it in his own.

“It’s nice,” Sylvain says, “how did you know to do this?”

Felix looks at him surprised and turns his gaze to where their hands are joined. “You take baths.”

He laughs. He can’t help it; he’s surprised.

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, the tail end of his laughter touching the words. “I mean with the window open. I can’t usually tolerate the water this hot, but with the air cold it’s actually kind of nice.”

There’s a pause.

“Sylvain.”

“Hm?”

“Do you not normally take hot baths?”

“I mean, I do, but I hate it.”

Felix closes his eyes and deflates in defeat. He can’t possibly hope to outmatch the master of deflection, and Sylvain feels an odd sort of pride.

“Glenn used to do this after training,” he admits. Sylvain’s stomach twists at the mention of Glenn; Felix has a habit of getting defensive anytime the topic comes up. Sylvain is careful not to provoke him but, well, Felix is easy to provoke.

“Oh,” is the safest thing he can think to say.

Felix smirks. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

“Life advice I can’t possibly take,” he says wistfully. 

Silence settles between them. The hot water feels heavy against him, but it’s in a good way, unlike the fading pain in his head. Their hands stay clasped together. Felix looks so, so relaxed, and Sylvain is already plotting how to make this a regular occurrence.

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time there was a me who woke up at 2am with a migraine and decided to write a one shot on my phone between naps after my lord and savior excedrin saved me. the end
> 
> I did NOT proofread this so if you see any mistakes by all means let me know
> 
> [talk to me on twitter!](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


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